Dust of falling towers fills the sky,
In disbelief the people stand and stare,
While others in a distant land pass by
The ruin of their village, stark and bare,
The hooded young their weapons hastily fix
While people turn their heads in case they see,
All human, though they’re not inclined to mix
Confirmed, forever enemies to be
What spirit makes men cause a life of pain?
Does fate or kismet rule to make it so?
Can we, so blessed, unconcerned remain?
Must we go on pretending not to know?
Our obligation is to those in need,
We should be generous in our thought and deed?
“© Copyright Ian Grice 2014, all rights reserved”
The above image belongs to – jeweettochzelluf.blogspot.com